


Love Triangles Aren't Triangles (Until You Draw The Third Line.)

by CescaLR



Series: In Which Higher Powers Make Mortal Messes. [2]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: (of!! Sorts!!!! you have been warned), AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Investigations | Team Angel, Attempt at Humor, Bisexuality, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Consensual Infidelity, Drama & Romance, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Idiots in Love, Infidelity, M/M, No Smut, Polyamory, Romance, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04, Sunnydale (BtVS), Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Teen Romance, Teenage Drama, and all, and general, both of those, but then that's them, but.... not much, eh, etc - Freeform, hmm, is the locale, it was a whim, little bits of LA and thus, look at the tags that a lot of Bi-ness, not exactly safe for work though, so technically there's also, so u know, stuff like that, there's just - there's a lot of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 07:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15746769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: The Powers That Be - forces of good to balance the forces of evil. Or so they're supposed to be. But Buffy's realm doesn't so much feel balanced as the good always scrambling to find the least devastating outcome, and most of the time only sort of succeeding.And yet. For beings so supposedly high and mighty, the Powers don't actually do much. Except make it so you have to be slightly demon to get their visions and thus, in turn, make it so everything with Cordy and Jasmine happens, so Connor, so Angel bargains with Wolfram and Hart, so the end of the world (sort of.) Along with a sincere lack of any aid regarding the many, many, many Sunnyhell apocalypses.So... given how strong the evil in Buffy's world is - maybe the Powers really should up their game, just a tad. Make themselves less of a laughing stock that can have their own thing be taken over and used so easily by someone like Jasmine.So. Let's fix that. And in turn, break some other things along the way.





	1. Episode one: Thalia, Anne, and Faith.

**Author's Note:**

> Season Three/Four AU/Fix-It Of Sorts, Canon Divergent as of literally the first episode. There's... a hint of time travel, in the sense that the Powers can see potential futures (otherwise how with the visions please explain) and they know where they're currently going. 
> 
> More of our favourite characters, but an equal amount of death. Maybe. I might not have the stone-cold heart required.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne, but twisted around. Not that the girl in question knows anything should be different, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this isn't shit.

Buffy had gotten used to her routine, by now. 

Wake up to Alarm. Snooze. Lie in bed for five minutes. Get up to the next ring of the alarm. Turn off the alarm. Stand. Walk over to clothes. Grab clothes. Put them on, one at a time.

Pause.

Breathe.

She'll then leave the box room that holds the bed and her belongings, still packed away in case she needs to run again.

Then she'll pause. Again. Look around. Nobody here. Nod. Go to the bathroom. Stare into the mirror for too long. Pull some form of expression at self (disgusted, annoyed, sticking tongue out because today's not so bad, really, get a grip). Brush teeth - remember to put toothpaste on the brush. Pause. Watch the water run over the brush. Grimace. Brush teeth. Pause.

Wash.

Breathe.

Stare at self, look for signs of anything at all.

No. Still nothing.

Good. 

Next, She'll leave the bathroom. Pause, roll her eyes, return to the bathroom. Shave if needed. Use toilet, pause. Nod, then return to the kitchenette. Look around. Still nobody.

Still lonely. ( _But you had to leave. You didn't have anywhere to go. Did you? Maybe. Maybe not. Moot point, because you didn't want to stay, anyway._ ) 

Then she'll breathe.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

 _Not_ undead, hello, _Buffy,_ so just  **breathe.**

 _There you go_. Nod. That's it. Go to the fridge. If anything's in, make a sandwich. If not, scowl, but smooth that over, because the boss doesn't mind if you pick something up at the diner. 

_(You say you're emancipated.)_

(Your boss knows better, but he lets it slide. The signs of being an inexperienced runaway must be obvious. His wife - your other boss - narrows her eyes at you occasionally, but she never fails to give you a ten - or a five - dollar note at the end of your shift on Fridays. She does it to all the people that work at the A _uthentic American Family Diner_ you work at who... probably shouldn't be. Obviously, the Diner has a name, but that's the branding.)

 _(You can find most anything in LA, and that's why you like it here._ Because, since that's the case, what you're actually looking for is harder to find. And maybe the name. Los Angeles. _**The City of Angels.**_ It - it might hurt, **a bit,** but it's _fitting.)_

_(The name, and maybe the pain, too.)_

Remember not to just stand around reminiscing. Grimace at nothing and everything all at once.

_(Try not to go numb, but also try not to feel too much or think too much about anything, in particular, that could remind you of him - but then, there you go again.)_

_(Thinking.)_

Breathe. Just Breathe. 

Then - Buffy will sigh, or make some other noise, maybe it'll be a bit too much this morning ( _but that hasn't been the case as of late, you've gotten at least a little better over the last month)_  and she'll cry, a bit, about something or another - maybe him, maybe her mom, maybe her friends, maybe her life and her lot and her fate - 

But that's not every day. It's just... something that spices up the routine. The monotony of working in a Diner and sitting around a barely decorated apartment Buffy's still surprised she can afford. 

Maybe the landlord - a lady in her mid-forties, deeply tanned with greying black hair and angry eyebrows but kind, green eyes and a soft face all the same -  pities her. Buffy's never asked. 

So. She's used to her routine, by now.

Which is why something spiced it up a bit. Once Buffy got used. Not much, but a tad. 

She met someone. Maybe a friend. At least, a companion while she's Anne. While she's a teenage runaway and not Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer. 

Thalia, the girl stutters out. She looks freshly run-away like she's not even been on the streets three weeks, let alone the two months she says she's been out here for. 

Her family are major wackos, though. It's kind of nice, to not be the Vampire Slayer to the girl who's been told she's a demon enough times that she believes it - kind of hard to hide that sort of thing when you sort of share a teeny tiny apartment, just as it's also kind of hard to hide grieving a lost loved one - just a nice, if freakishly strong girl who leant her couch in a time of need, got her a job with a nametag that didn't say anything about her real identity (because while Buffy uses Anne to hide from everyone who knew her and herself, Thalia uses - well, Thalia, to hide from the exact same things for  _very_ different reasons) and kept her company a few times, when the girl woke from something awful in her dreams. 

But... yeah. So, Buffy's routine adjusted. And maybe things were a little less grey and dull and painful with someone to talk to - someone who might not understand exactly, the pain of having to kill someone you love for the safety of the world, but does indeed understand the pain of losing someone you love if in a different way, and is genuine in her empathy - like some sort of emotional conduit. It kind of reminds Buffy of her friends when they're feeling wise and up to it - Thalia's ability to give her advice and comfort and just a presence to be near so she's not alone whenever she needs it, and - and Buffy tries her best, on her better days, to do the same. Better weeks, Better months, and suddenly, scarily, it's almost September. 

If she were in Sunnydale, it'd be back to school for her, soon.

But Anne doesn't go to school, unlike Buffy. And, for now, Buffy is Anne - just like the girl who sleeps on her couch is Thalia. Because she says so.

Because she - they, need to be someone they're not, at least for a little while. 

* * *

 

Before Buffy could meet up with Lily, there's another new face. Another runaway, but... less of a runaway. She's running from  _something,_ but - not a home. Not her parents. 

"Died years back," She had said, seemingly unaffected. Buffy felt similar about Angel now - a sort of hollow feeling. She'd cried, not all of her tears, but many, and Buffy didn't want to cry any more of them. So she didn't. 

(Your dreams are a kind of solace. For in dreams, we enter a world that is entirely our own.)

 _(Not that you'll know that quote for a few years, yet. Doesn't matter. We're looking back._ _)_

Faith is - she's strong like Buffy is, and that's interesting. Because Kendra died, and the memory of that still hurts, but Buffy admittedly didn't know her as well as she'd have liked to, and maybe that's why. Because any chances were lost, because Kendra can never see more of life, learn more things, grow older and get friends and something outside of Slaying. Because she's dead, too, like him. Like Angel. But it hurts less because she wasn't in love with Kendra - and it feels bad, felt bad, will always feel cruel, but that makes it easier to deal with Kendra's loss.

The knowledge that her pain could be so much worse.

Faith hadn't wanted any platitudes, and Buffy, currently experiencing a kind of great tragedy, understood that feeling, so she hadn't given any. But Thalia had understood, in a sense - in that she lost a parent, the difference being that her mother, the best parent Thalia had ever known, was nothing like Faith's mother, in the woman's later days (not that she died old.)

"So what's your issue?" Faith had asked, callous, but there was something steely in her eyes - like, like if she knew they could be trusted, that they could trust her, maybe she'd tell them her reason for being here. Buffy didn't have another couch, but she could buy a sleeping bag. She could make it work. 

"I lost someone... I cared about." Buffy admitted. "Two, really." She paused, collected herself. "Someone I loved. And... and I got kicked out. Mom - didn't want me around, any more."

Faith nodded, slowly, her face a fraction softer. 

"Then - Then that's h-her problem," Thalia said, forcing her way through her stutter. Eventually, it would fade, but it would take time, and friends, and maybe a language coach of some kind. If her family had wanted her to stutter, to be meek - and this is one of the times when Thalia's eyes got their own kind of steel - then she would help herself, and  _damn_ them, because - because they  _hurt_ her, for all these years, ever since her magic first showed itself. But she'd never, ever be like them - there is strength in kindness. She'd be the kind of person she wants to be, which is and has always been the antithesis to  _them._

It's the three of them, in this room, in Anne's apartment (not Buffy's, because here you aren't Buffy). Buffy could get used to this - maybe even grow to like it. Grow to have friends that aren't Willow and Xander and a support network that doesn't include her mother or Giles. 

In a way, she's found a way to deal. Right here. This apartment, this job, these people. 

Buffy smiled softly at Thalia. "She couldn't deal with my life," Buffy said, quietly. "She'd - hated how dangerous it could be, I guess... doesn't make sense to throw me out if she's scared of the danger, but..."

"That was an excuse," Faith waved away whatever Buffy was going to say next. "I think the two of us can vouch that parents can be very, very easily very shitty about most everything."

"Mom was never," Buffy said, sighing. "Except... But that was Dad."

Mostly. Partially. They both agreed, in the end, that it was  _for the best, for her, to help, to make her **better.**_

 **Because vampires don't exist.** At least, from where they were standing.

( _The Mental Asylum. You remember, don't you? You hate that place. Will always. You never told your mother, but even though you don't remember much - and perhaps because of that - nightmares were common for a while after, and they still occur now._

_But they just... they didn't know. Couldn't handle. They thought - they thought they were helping.)_

"If she didn't stop him," Thalia said, quiet but strong. "Then it's on her, too."

"Magic," Buffy said, hesitantly. Indicating Thalia. Unable to really continue following the direction the conversation was going. "My - strength. And... some other things. Behaviour, I guess." She glanced at Faith. "And you?"

"I..." She paused. Looked at them, properly.

"You don't have to," Thalia said. Faith relaxed, minutely. "But it would help you if you did," Thalia added, pushed, ever so lightly, with her words. 

"Can we go out tonight?" Faith asked. "All of us. Just - somewhere. A nightclub, a bar, somewhere."

Not exactly connected, but.

But.

It had been a while since Buffy had had any form of what you could call 'fun'.

It's a diversion. A distraction. Buffy is sorely tempted.

"If you promise," Buffy said, possibly pushing her luck, "That you'll still be here in the morning. And..." She hesitated and pushed even more. "And that you'll tell us, eventually, what - ...what you're running from."

Faith looked at her, and Buffy kept eye-contact, deliberate and strong. Talking had helped Buffy because talking helped  _people._ Humans are social creatures. So talking will help Faith, inevitably, once she gets past whatever block is stopping her. 

Like Thalia had managed to get past hers, and Buffy had managed to brute force her own out of the way. Faith was strong, strong like Buffy (and... well. There is a possibility, but the likelihood of Kendra dying and the next Slayer who's called is a Boston native that just so happens to be in LA when Buffy is Anne is... slim. Buffy would never be that lucky.) and - and maybe she could do something that's in the middle of those two options. 

"Alright." Faith said. "I'm gonna regret this," She admitted - in the month of knowing her, this was not a common occurrence and it did nearly shock Buffy, but only nearly - "But... alright, fine - it's, it's five-by-five." She shook her head, a minuscule movement. "I'll be here." 

And here she was. And here she was for the day after that, and the day after that, and Buffy bought her a blowup mattress instead of a sleeping bag because it felt like a better gesture, and... she kind of never left. 

* * *

It lasted. Lily showed up a week before Buffy would have been entering Sunnydale High for her last year of schooling, and... it went much the same. She didn't involve Thalia because she wasn't sure seeing real demons and what they looked like and how they acted might not help it might make it worse, and though Faith invited herself along to break into the centre and busied herself with pretending not to steal shit that Buffy pretended she wasn't pretending not to steal and also simply pretended Faith wasn't stealing anything at all (because she knew Faith was stealing in the first place, her pretense wasn't very good) - they could talk about it later - but Buffy made Faith promise to keep an eye on Thalia while Buffy went to deal with the hell dimension. 

And when Buffy left it to find Giles and Lily and no Faith and Thalia, and when Buffy was okay with this...

"I can get you set up," Buffy said. "You can... take my apartment. And - I can get you-"

"It's okay," Lily said. "I'm - Thalia."

Buffy paused. "What?" She asked, quietly. "They had to leave," Lily said, in that soft voice of hers. "They sounded panicked - or, at least, Thalia did." Lily paused. "Faith was... eerily calm."

Buffy's blood ran cold. "What did they say?"

"Have some faith, Annie," Lily-now-Thalia said, still quiet. "T and I will be fine."

"That's what she said that you should tell me," Buffy accused, surprised slightly by how worried she was... but not really. They'd helped her when she needed it, she'd bonded with them. 

She cared. They were her  _friends._

"That's all she said," Lily-Thalia said. "But I found this, in the apartment."

Lily-Thalia handed over a scrap of paper - like the sort the orders were written on at the Diner. 

_I'm sorry we aren't here. I'm sorry I can't say why; no time._

_Faith thinks she knows somewhere she can find help. She's talking to Lily right now, sending a message._

_I'm sorry, Anne. So sorry._

_\- Tara._

_(My name is Tara. I'm sorry I never told you in person... I'm sorry I found out your name is Buffy Summers. I haven't told Faith._

_Please be back in Sunnydale by the time we arrive. Faith's put all her hope on the you that you were. I'm sorry to_

It stops. Buffy stares at it, at the unfinished letter on a scrap bit of Diner note paper, stolen from one of the clipboards. 

"You might need to be Anne again," Lily said, quietly. "But I don't think Tara will ever need to be Thalia."

Buffy carefully folded the note, and nodded, slowly. 

"Giles?" She asked, voice louder than before so he could hear. 

"Yes, Buffy?" He asked, softly. Buffy didn't look straight at him - couldn't. 

"My apartment's not too far." She said. "I'm giving it to - Thalia, but I need to get my things."

Giles nodded. "I shall drive you there, then." He said, slightly more firmly. 

"And then...?" Thalia asked.

"Sunnydale," Buffy said, quietly. "Giles -" She paused. 

"Anything." He said. "Just..." He hesitated. "Come home."

Buffy nodded. "I wanna - give mom time to... adjust." She chose her words carefully. "Can I... stay at yours?"

"Of course," He said. "Though - I have... moved."

Buffy nodded. Giles didn't exactly need to explain why. 

"There is more space," He continued, "Though a severe lack of furniture."

"That's okay," Buffy said, a slight smile attempting to form at the familiarity of it all. Of Giles, of talking to her Watcher. At him, in general, and the nicer memories of Sunnydale his presence brought up. 

But then, there were the worse ones, and her smile faded before it properly formed. 

She wasn't ready. But - she had to be. Because, really, she'd never be ready. 

So she just had to go anyway. 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D'you like it? Tell me! D'you not? Tell me too! D'you want me to die in a fire? Thanks for reading anyway!
> 
> (I'm tired, sorry about this mess. it's a mess, I swear, what is up with the perspective shifts and the tenses and ugh. Bye.)


	2. Episode One: Triangles, Guitars, and Summer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bits and pieces of the summer Buffy was gone. 
> 
> Some Oz, some Willow, some Cordy, some Xander, some others, maybe, and a mix of all of that. In various forms and shapes.
> 
> But... mostly triangles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some changes in context. Some context in changes. Whatever. Basically: The Scoobies, that summer.

The Basement of Doom.

Population Census; one. Survey results:  _100%_ _This place sucks._

Xander sighed, got up from the bed, and kicked the washing machine. It stopped, sometimes, and since his parents - well. It was up to Xander to fix it, and Xander wasn't exactly familiar with how washing machines even worked, let alone how they were put together and how you'd go about fixing them... but nevermind how that was done, what mattered is that kicking it usually fixed whatever the problem was. 

So he kicked it, the washing machine started up again, and Xander grimaced at the noise. But he was used to its incessant beeping and chugging and whirring, so he ignored it fairly easily - white noise. 

Summer was going to be _long._ Lots of hours spent here, in this basement. Luckily for Xander, and he does count himself lucky for this because it means not listening to the muffled arguments of the Harris-Lavelle coupling upstairs, he's got a friend called Willow and a girlfriend - still, oh the novelty and strangeness, even or especially now - in Cordelia, either of which he can persuade into being very much  _elsewhere._

It's not too hard to convince either of them, really. Xander's parents have never exactly won awards for their ability to be functioning adults, let alone even a participation trophy for being there for, well, him. But. 

Eh.

The washing machine stop-starts a few times, chugging along and very much on its last legs. It'll probably last a bit longer. 

It's late-ish, but not too late, and Xander calls Willow - who is with Oz, yep - then he calls Cordelia, who is not-so-begrudgingly available. 

Score. 

Xander leaves the house pretty much as quickly as he can because, honestly, why would he want to stay ( _hint: that's a rhetorical statement, not a question because there is no other answer than you would not and really, how much does an apartment cost and can somebody file for their own emancipation when they're pretty damn close to eighteen so by that point it's unnecessary anyway?)_  and then he's down the street, takes a left and walks much further. 

And then there's Cordelia, and he doesn't have to be stuck in a basement all summer, not that he would have been without her, of course, but the fact that she's here is - well, it's nice, is all. 

So they do the dating thing properly, and yeah. It's - really nice. He likes her a lot, he does, not that he's ever going to say that out loud. But, to be fair, neither is she if she likes him, either. So. 

They know. And that works. 

* * *

Cordelia finds it's - not as annoying as she'd have thought, having to hang around Xander's little friends over the summer break. It's more annoying having to get vampire dust all over her clothes because Buffy's abandoned them for some other town thanks to her boyfriend dying and all, but. They manage, and - well, vampire hunting is tiring, patrolling is _tiring,_ and Cordelia can't always be bothered to drive all the way back home.

So they end up at Willow's more often than not; absentee parents. It's usefull, always has been. Cordelia's taken advantage of her own parents going away for work and couple's holidays to bring over boyfriends and host parties - Willow's probably too boring to have done any of that, but either way.

Either way.

... Either way, Cordelia found herself in Willow Rosenberg's house at 2:00 am, two weeks after the Slayer left her post, a week and a half after they took over her damn job, an hour after they finished up patrol for the evening. There's a movie on in the background and Cordelia doesn't remember which one it is - isn't even sure what movies the Rosenbergs let their daughter have in the house and doesn't rightly care, because who's Willow to her, anyway? Her boyfriend's best friend, a girl she... doesn't like and... was never particularly nice to. Well, whatever. This is dumb and boring and she should go home and sleep.

"I'm bored," Cordelia said. "This is dumb, anyway. What movie even is this?"

Willow's cheeks pinked slightly. Whether embarrasment or anger, who knows. Cordelia brings out both in most everyone she talks to.

It's a talent.

"It doesn't matter," Willow says, raising the remote and turning it off. "We weren't watching it anyway."

Xander's conked out on the couch, arm along the back behind Cordelia, but not quite around her shoulders. It doesn't count, anyway, since he's asleep. By now, Cordelia's leant back against the backrest, but his arm still isn't around her shoulders. Not even a little, really.

"It's late," Oz notes. "We should be going."

He's right. They should. Cordelia's not about to stay in Willow Rosenberg's house while Xander's asleep and Oz is gone, anway. That'd be pure torture, spending that much alone-time with _Willow,_ of all people.

Neither of them make any move to leave, however. In Cordelia's defense, she's tired and her feet hurt and she got hit in the gut one too many times, so she's in some amount of pain she'd have never thought she would be, unless, like, she ever had kids.

"Right," Cordelia says, standing. Better get that drive over and done with.

"Here's closer to me than to you," Oz states. "Xander's left a few clothes in the spare room over the years," Willow adds, tired. "Yeah," Cordelia says. "You bring him to school then."

It's only smart. Logistics and all that.

(It's dumb, to be jealous of a guy's friends. Cordelia isn't that girl - that girl is a psycho, frankly, and should be _elsewhere._ She refuses, plain and simple.)

She leaves, and shuts the door behind her.

* * *

Life goes on, Oz finds. You find out about vampires and vampire slayers. Cool, explains a lot; life goes on, and makes more sense. You become a werewolf. Alright, then you lock yourself up on full moons. Not exactly fun or convenient, but life goes on.

You date a girl, and life goes on. You make friends, and life goes on. You fight vampires, and life goes on.

It's a cycle, he thinks. Life carries on, and on, and on.

"You're quieter when you're high," Devon says. "If that's even fucking possible."

Oz smiles, small and closed-lipped.

"Band practice tomorrow," Devon continues. "Unless you have... _arrangements?"_ He grins. Oz shakes his head, slow and short. Devon hands him another brownie. "Cool," Devon says. "Here, look-" And he holds out the set they're going to play, explains the alterations he'd made and some of the additions, but not all of them.

The house phone rings. Devon, frowns at it, confused, and Oz stands. He walks over, slow, then picks up. "Hello?" He asks.

"Oz, hey," Willow smiles. He can _hear_ it, in her voice, and he knows it because she smiles - a lot. A lot when she says those words, too, which helps his guess.

"Hey," Oz says. "What...?"

"Oh not much," She laughed lightly. "Sorry if - I mean, if you're practicing or, I don't know - but, if I'm interrupting -"

"Willow," Oz said, "What's up?"

"Just - a demon," He can practically see her hesitation - Oz, for a moment, vizualises her, and she looks shifty. She's biting her lip and her eyes are darting every which way. "Nothing big," She adds, hurriedly, and continues rambling.

"I'll be there," He says.

"- Oh, okay," Willow nods, in his mind's eye, and then dissolves.

Oz nods, and hangs up. He turns around grabs his keys off the coffee table.

"Tomorrow," Devon points at him. He's upside down on the sofa, head on the floor, legs against the wall. "Or death."

Very true. Either he's there tomorrow or the demon killed him - and, well. Life would go on. No Slayer, life goes on; no Oz - life goes on.

Oz inclines his head, turns, and leaves Devon's house.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mhmmmmmmmmm I wrote a whole bunch more BUT IT DIDN'T SAVE so no bye, doing this later; I'll update the chapter instead of adding ones until the summer from the Scoobies POV is done

**Author's Note:**

> 'In Which Higher Powers Make Mortal Messes' is not a single-fandom series. It contains fics in which I have higher powers of some form meddle in ways they perhaps should or perhaps most certainly maybe possibly should never have even conceived the thought of attempting to do in any actual physical (or not so physical) way. 
> 
> So that's why this is a part of that.


End file.
